I took a step forward, placed my arms around him, and gave him a hug. No words, only an embrace. His body tensed and I feared I'd gone too far. But then I felt his hand on my back and he squeezed me close.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his body shuddered as he released a breath. He was warm and everything felt right. That was the thing about Carter—he was gruff and stubborn and had weird ideas on life, but there was something about his touch that made everything bad melt away.
"It's all a part of your hermit image. I understand. Can't have the town folk thinking you're social or they might start hitting you up to volunteer at the annual apple festival."
He pulled back to gaze down at me. "What apple festival?"
I smiled. "See. You don't even know about it. The hermit act of yours works wonders."
His right hand lifted, and he brushed some strands of hair from my cheek. "You're a beautiful person, Olivia. Don't ever change." He pulled me back into the embrace. Then he whispered something that sounded like, "Don't let me destroy you, too."
TWELVE
Carter
"Like this?" Olivia bent over, the new jeans she bought yesterday were glued to her rear like maple syrup on a pancake. I stood behind her watching her cheeks shift behind the blue fabric.
"Carter? Are you watching?" she spoke again, but I barely heard as all the blood was rushing to my dick. My poor, sore dick. It had been pulled a lot over the past two weeks, almost as much as when I was in my teens.
If only I could use a pair of sweet, pouty lips instead.
"If I don't learn how to do this, the sheep might get cut."
The buzzing sound began, and I switched my gaze to Olivia's hand. She was attempting to shear a sheep. Not one of my sheep, not even a real ewe. It was a practice sheep my dad had made to teach me when I was young.
Even with being only several days away from March, it was still too cold for shearing. But I promised Olivia yesterday that I'd teach her all about raising sheep.
"You're going to cut one anyway," I said as my eyes flipped between the shears and her butt.
"Okay, Truck Butt, show me what I need to do."
Her new nickname for me. I was no longer Mr. Grumpington. After she noticed my license plate said TRK BUTT, there was no going back.
After the meltdown I had following the bank two days ago, she noticed the tank was low driving home. We stopped to get gas, and she insisted on filling the tank herself, which turned into me walking her through the entire process. She performed a bizarre dance after and told me that would be going on her list of talents.
Walking back to the driver's side, she glanced at the plate. There were many jokes about my truck butt on the ride home, all of them from her.
My dad said I would regret that custom plate, but I was eighteen and thought it was funny. He was right . . .
Olivia stood—effectively breaking me out of my fantasy about her butt—and shut off the shears.
"Well?" She pushed the shears at me.
Her lips curled with confidence. Not that she knew the first thing about removing wool from a sheep, but I was caught staring at her butt.
Was I ashamed? No. There was something about that smirk that made me want to kiss it right off her face. Then I'd work my way down her body until I could admire her backside in the flesh.
I couldn't do that for many reasons. One of which, we were in a barn with hay and dung on the floor. Not the cleanest of places for being intimate with my new farmhand.
The other, she might get freaked out and stop helping me take care of the animals.
These past two days since I'd been home from the hospital—much to my surprise—had been great. Olivia took to being a farmer like Kitty took to my potato hash.
"You want to learn how to shear? The first thing that has to get done is remove the soiled part on the back of the sheep."
She frowned. I hated causing her smile to disappear, but I knew it was necessary for what was to come. I was going to torture her.
"Like the tips of the wool that have dirt on it?" She pointed to several sheep wandering around.
"No, that can be washed off. I'm talking about the rear of the animal. If we don't remove that part, flies get to it and leave eggs." I watched a pale green color wash over her face but that only encouraged me to continue, "Then the eggs hatch and you get maggots."
I stood there as my words sunk in, causing the green of her cheeks to turn colorless. The frown deepened, her shoulders curved forward, and slowly, she raised her hand to her mouth.
Placing the razor on the hook on the wall, I bent down and grabbed sheep poop. I smeared it on the fake ewe.
"Oh, gah . . ." She turned her body and swiftly walked out of the barn.
"Wait . . . Where are you going?" I yelled, trying to hold back a chuckle. "We haven't even started yet!"
That was better than I thought it would be. Olivia was so squeamish and yet, she earnestly wanted to learn how to raise sheep. I admired her determination, but a person needed a strong stomach to deal with animals.
I didn't want to torture her. Okay, that's not true. I enjoyed watching her delicate nature crumble with each stomach-churning adventure.
My friendship with Olivia withstood these farming lessons. I was surprised. Yesterday when I began teaching her what she would need to do for me, I thought by lunch she would give up and call her sister, telling her she was coming home.
That too was shocking. Back at the diner, Olivia treated the letter and credit card her sister left her as if it was the Holy Grail. But since then, she hadn't called her sister.
I grabbed a rag and wiped off what I could of the crap on my hand and went out to find her. She was leaning against the back wall of the cabin, bent over.
"You going to puke? Again?" I called to her.
Raising her arm, she gave me a thumbs-up. I held my arms wide. "Come here."
Olivia turned and zeroed in on my poop-covered hand. She clutched her neck, shaking her head, looking like she belonged in a 1940s horror flick.
"You stay away from me."
"But I love your hugs." I smiled. It was large and devilish. Maybe she would think twice about constantly hugging people.
When the vet showed up yesterday, she hugged him when he came into the barn and then embraced him again before he left. Normally, her unusual need for physical touch was annoying, but yesterday it was disturbing.
To be clear, she wasn't disturbed, I was. I wanted to pull her off Dr. Ferguson and punch him. It wasn't rational, I knew that, but it's what I felt.
With wide eyes, she quickly kicked off her boots and raced into the house, slamming the door behind her. I laughed and walked over to the water hose. I kept some soap and a scrub brush in a wooden box near the hose.
After a few minutes of cleaning my hands, I grabbed the doorknob to the back door. It was locked.
"Olivia, let me in!" I banged on the door.
"No. You'll infect me." Her voice was close, and I knew she was just on the other side.
"You were so friendly to Dr. Ferguson yesterday. Where's my hug?" It came out more bitter than I had planned.
Olivia and I were only friends. If she wanted to hug other men, she was more than welcome. I wasn't used to being social like her. Perhaps in time I'd become accustomed to that way of interacting with people.
Maybe I'd turn into a hugger.
"I was just being nice. He had been so helpful to me."
I mumbled, "Yeah, I'd like to be helpful to him."
"Did you say something? I can't hear you. The door's in the way."
"Then open it. I promise I won't smear poop on you."
"Okay. But go straight into the bathroom when I open the door."
"I swear on Kitty's love of food."
Kitty must have heard me because I heard a bark from inside. The door clicked, and I quickly took off my boots and stepped back. Slowly and with a few creaks, the door opened.
With my hands behind my back and my brows creased
in concern, I was determined to express that I meant the truth. She held the door open but plastered her back against the wall. The air wasn't much warmer as I stepped inside. There was still a hole over the loft, but it had been temporarily covered. Along with the vet showing up yesterday, so did two guys to start working on the roof.
They did what they could and promised to be back today. It was almost lunchtime and I had yet to see them.
I scooted inside and watched Olivia as she focused on where my hands should be. As she closed the door and turned to face me, I reached up. "Looks like you got something in your hair," I said as I pulled on some strands.
The cry was shrill as it blew out of Olivia's throat. It caused Kitty to howl. Off in the distance, I think I heard some wolves howl along.
"What is wrong with you? My hair! I have poop hair!" She stepped forward and pulled some of her locks toward me. "How much shit did you get in my hair?"
My lower lip quivered, and I tried to appear shocked, but I hadn't had this much fun since I was a teenager.
I pinched my finger and thumb together and held it up. "Maybe this much. I don't know . . . Here, let me have a closer look."
I stepped closer, my breath causing her hair to flutter across her chest. Her hands snapped up, grabbing my right arm before I had a chance to lift it.
"Don't you dare. If you touch me one more time with your poop hand, I'll knee you in the nuts."
I rolled my lips between my teeth. She bared her teeth like a wild animal trapped in a corner. Olivia was almost foaming at the mouth with anger and she'd never looked more adorable.
She held up my hand in front of me and wiped it down my face.
"Smells like lemon," I said just before I stuck my tongue out for a lick of my finger.
She dropped my hand as if it burned her and stepped back, hitting the back door in the process.
"Oh. My. God. You're insane. I knew you were a bit of a loner, but I didn't think you were deranged."
Rolling my eyes, I realized it was time to end this. "Take a look at my hand. Does it look like there's sheep dung on it?"
Olivia's expression changed from horror to uncertainty then to surprise. She took a hesitant step forward and sniffed the back of the hand I held out.
"It does smell like lemons."
"I told you. I washed my hands with some soap and the hose I have out back before I came in here."
She flashed her breathtaking smile and sighed. There was a sparkle in her gaze, and I wondered if she enjoyed the torture game I played with her as much as I did.
"It's about time for lunch. Why don't you take a bath, to make sure all the grime is off you, and I'll make grilled cheese and soup," she said as her finger pointed to the bathroom, but her eyes stayed on my lips.
What if you took a bath with me?
I wanted to ask her that but knew it wasn't a good idea. She was here to help, nothing more. Olivia was the first friend I had since I was a little boy, and I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that.
I swallowed my longing and nodded. My eyes remained glued to the beautiful sway of her backside as she made her way to the kitchen. Once I closed the door to the bathroom and started the tap on the bathtub, I wondered if I should rub one out before or after the soak?
Making up my mind on the latter, I stepped into the steaming water after getting undressed and putting the plastic covering on to protect my cast. While scrubbing up, I spent more time on my dick than necessary while thinking of Olivia bending over in the barn.
I began to wonder what it would be like to sink inside her. How warm and soft she would feel. I didn’t just want to know what her lips tasted like, but the lips between her thighs too.
The bath had to end soon because I was close to coming. I unplugged the tub and stood. Right as I was about to step out, I heard Kitty bark and Olivia yell. That's when loud male voices filtered into the room.
I didn't think; I reacted. Jumping out of the tub and running across the room, I flung open the door. The air was crisp against my wet skin, but I didn't care. Olivia was in danger.
That was the problem of living in the wilderness—it attracted some unsavory people. People who knew they could get away with bad things and never be caught. When you scream in the wild, does anyone hear?
Thankfully, I heard Olivia.
"Carter!" Olivia's wide eyes met mine but quickly lowered down my body before stopping midway. As did the two men behind her—the two workers from yesterday that were fixing the roof.
"What are they doing?" I asked, glaring at the men.
"They knocked on the door, and it surprised me. Gus and Mick are here to start work." Olivia swallowed but refused to move her gaze back up. "You look a little cold. Perhaps you should get dressed before having lunch?"
With one arm in a cast, I only had my right hand to cover myself. I nodded and turned with the little dignity I had and made my way back into the bathroom. Next time something like that happens, I think I'll ask if Olivia needs help first before reacting.
THIRTEEN
Olivia
"Two of your biggest bags of the dirty stuff, please." I smiled at Debbie, batting my eyes, hoping that would get me the coffee faster.
"The dirt blend, the most requested one. I'll be right back." Debbie stepped away from the register and moved through an opening to the kitchen.
"I like mud, myself," A deep, silky voice came from behind.
I turned and discovered Dr. Ferguson behind me.
"Fancy meeting you here." I smiled up into his sparkling blue eyes.
"I come here every morning for breakfast. How's the patient?"
Groaning, I shook my head.
"That bad, huh? Does he need to go back to the doctor?"
"No, his arm's fine. Healing. It's his—"
"Tyler, your usual?" Debbie returned with two bags of coffee and dropped them onto the counter with a thud.
"Yes, Deb. Thanks so much. Have you eaten, Olivia? I'd love some company."
I gnawed at my lower lip. For some reason, I felt that Carter wouldn't approve of me having breakfast with Dr. Ferguson. Which was silly because it's not as if Carter's my boyfriend, or that Dr. Ferguson has anything dirty in mind. It's only breakfast in a public place.
"Sure. Sounds good. I'll have a cup of your wonderful hot chocolate, Debbie."
She rang me up for the coffee while Dr. Ferguson found a table. When I joined him, he had been typing away on his cell phone before he put it away.
My heart soared. "I'm jealous."
His head tilted. "Jealous?"
"Of your phone. It's been two-and-a-half weeks without a cell phone . . . I hate to admit it, but I've come to realize how much I miss it. I know I would have talked to my sister by now."
"Here's your hot chocolate. I thought I heard you mention your sister. Did you get a chance to call her?" Debbie placed the large bowl-like cup in front of me.
Cringing, I shook my head. "No, not yet."
That wasn't like me. I talked to Bea every day of my life. Even when one of us was traveling, we still called each other. She's my twin, and when I didn't hear her voice, I felt broken.
But, for the first time ever, I was afraid to call her. And I knew exactly why.
"Did the phone line go out again up at Carter's?" the vet asked.
"Yes," I lied.
I would rather lie to the people who've been kind and helpful to me than admit the truth. Which was that I was afraid of the mess I'd made by running away. My decision hurt my family, and I didn't need a phone call to know that.
Maybe if I stayed here, up on Fire Mountain, I would never have to deal with the jilted fiancé who turned out to be more of an evil villain than a prince charming.
"You can use the diner phone. I told you if there was anything I could do to help, feel free to ask." Debbie's hand clasped my shoulder.
"Oh, I couldn't ask you to—"
A cell phone slid toward me on the table.
"Use my phone. I have
to use the restroom anyway. Give you some privacy."
The vet didn't give me a chance to respond. He stood and moved toward the back hallway. Debbie gave my shoulder a squeeze for encouragement before she let go and headed back toward the kitchen.
I stared at that black, shiny phone. It glared at me, taunting me to make a move toward reality. I picked it up, surprised at its weight. Taking a deep breath, I turned it on and mentally chided the doctor for not having a password.
"Here goes nothing."
Swiping the screen, I pulled up the phone app and began to tap in Bea's number. I'd studied it so much the past four days that I could recite it in four different languages.
"Hello?" Bea's voice crackled slightly over the phone.
"Bea? It's—"
"Ollie! Oh my God, where are you?"
I couldn't respond to her question as my throat closed up. My face burned, and I covered my eyes with my hand, willing myself not to cry. But my will was weak due to days of hard labor and early mornings.
"I'm . . . I'm still on Fire Mountain."
I missed her. What a fool I had been. I wanted to reach through the phone and pull her into a hug that never ended.
"But I searched everywhere for you before I left. No one had seen you. I thought you took my advice and flew to a Caribbean island. Why didn't you call me? Oh, no . . . Are you being held hostage?"
A tiny laugh broke through my tears. "No."
"Ollie."
"Fine. Gucci is for the nouveau riche."
Bea and I had come up with a code if we were ever abducted. If she was safe, her response would be "I'm bringing back scrunchies."
"Good. That makes me feel a little better. But it doesn't explain why you haven't called me."
How can I explain that to her when I don't fully understand it myself? "I was afraid. Has Dad disowned me yet?"
Bea groaned. "Of course not, but he wasn't happy when you disappeared. And it only made Derrick appear like the brave, wounded fiancé in his eyes. Dad's talking about promoting Derrick to take over Konrad's position."
Oh no. That can't happen. Derrick would be the third most powerful person at Love Foods if he took over my brother's job.
Lost and Found (books 1-3): Small-Town Romantic Comedy Page 9